To My Grandmother

I was born in the dusk of your years
When the winter's winds, and wearied roads
Had etched upon your withered skin
The thousand lines of waste's weary pace.

I never knew your springs or summers
Never saw the girl that perhaps still lingers
Untouched and sleeping in your mortal shell
Locked behind the reflection in the well,

Only the old woman bent and stooped
A glowering ember in a darkened grate
You gaze through dimmed brown eyes
Worn and tired as of late.

Your tongue was foreign to me
I spoke of a different world to you
In slurs and meaningless beats
Came the same tired gesture of reply,

I wish I had known you then,
The springs and summers,
The butterflies, that danced and
The songs that you sung,
Now forever hidden within your mind
Calls out to me a tuneless melody

I have watched you seep away
These eighteen long years
Watched the strength wane from your limbs
Watched the colour bleed from your hair
Watched the blood drain from your face
And watched your soul dim in your eyes.
Yet it startles me, that from your body
Two robust generations had sprung.

I wish I could find the words
To say what I wish to say.

Now that you tether upon the banks of Lethe
Would you look back upon us
With gratitude or with shame?

When nights cloak should fall
As is common to us all
Would then, you rejoice
In the release of your pain.

Would your spirit then be freed
To soar high above mortal pains
To leave your decaying shell
To see the heart behind my silent pleas?

What do you dream of now as you lie
White and pale as your sheets
To walk the forward path
Or back to your shackles and chains
Back to our weeping hearts?

And should upon the morrow,
That last tear, forbid, would fall
Would it be a trickle of joy
Or sadness for the sadness we'd recall?

Perhaps, Goodbye

With love, your grand-daughter,
Who speaks a foreign tongue,
Sheds foreign tears,
And grieves with a foreign heart.